


I Just Want Something

by DabMyWetties



Series: halo fifteen [2]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys In Love, Discrimination, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pride, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: “How is shit like that allowed to happen?” Scott asks, still looking up at the sky. The hurt is plain in his voice. Mitch rakes a hand through his hair, pushing the strands loosened by the breeze out of his face and back behind his ears. He’s glad it’s a clear, cool night. “You up to talking about it or just want to vent?” he asks. “I wanna talk about it,” Scott answers immediately. “I want to understand. What happened, why it happened, why it’s allowed. It’s… it’s stupid. It’s not right.”





	I Just Want Something

“He’s cute,” Kirstie remarks. “Not really your type, is he?” 

“Maybe not,” Mitch replies after a moment. Preppy boy’s a dozen feet away at the payphone calling the friend he’s crashing with for the night, and maybe he’s not Mitch’s normal type but since when has he ever done anything the normal way?  “Hell of a kisser, though. And he went to a club totally out of his comfort zone, saved a perfect stranger from getting manhandled, and danced to music he doesn’t know because I asked him to dance. I’m interested. I want to corrupt him, I think.”  

Kirstie and Jeremy are still giggling when Scott heads back over, nervously smoothing a hand through his hair. Mitch can’t help but smile. “All good, preppy boy?” He nods, ducking his head slightly. “Yeah, I’m set. Thanks for inviting me.” The shy preppy thing  _ works  _ for him, it really does.  

Before Mitch can come up with a flirty retort, Kirstie’s clapping Scott on the shoulder. “I’m glad you agreed to it. Someone needs to let you know what you’re getting into with this one,” she chortles, jerking her chin in Mitch’s direction. The brunette eyes her coolly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Lying is a sin and I’ll replace all your hair dye with Nair if you tell any, Morticia. Don’t fuck with me.” He can see Scott’s eyes darting between them, uncomfortable, until Kirstie breaks first and snickers. Mitch just gives her a look, half warning and half amusement, before turning his attention to Scott. It’s way too early to scare him off. 

“We’ve known each other since grade school; we’re always like this,” Mitch says by way of explanation. “How do you feel about Moons Over My Hammy?” Scott blinks at him a few times, opens his mouth and inhales to say something, then closes his mouth again. “I don’t know how anyone can order it with a straight face,” he says after some serious contemplation. “Well  _ I _ sure can’t,” Mitch shoots back with a grin before turning to glance at Kirstie and Jeremy. “Preppy boy’s got shotgun. Let’s go.” 

Forty-five minutes later, as the four of them sit on the vinyl-upholstered benches waiting to be seated at Denny’s, Mitch’s patience is wearing thin. They had to clear a table in an open section - that’s what Kirstie was told when she’d asked the girl at the register what was taking so long. His fingers absentmindedly trace formless shapes on Scott’s right thigh, pressed up against his left, and it probably isn’t helping matters but, god dammit, why does it matter? It does matter, though, and that’s quite obvious when yet another group walks through the door and is seated at a booth immediately. 

“Are they…?” Jeremy leans over to whisper, brows drawn. “Yeah,” Mitch mutters. “Yeah, they are.” Fuck patience. He’s  _ angry  _ now. He just wanted some coffee and shitty food and another hour or two with Scott and  _ this  _ has to happen. 

“What’s going on?” Scott asks quietly. The look on his face says he already has some clue but doesn’t really want to believe it. “They’re not seating us. Waiting for us to leave,” Mitch answers, voice low and steely. “But...why?” Scott asks. Mitch looks at him, looks pointedly down at his fingers resting on Scott’s knee, then back up into suddenly sad blue eyes. “Oh,” he mumbles. “But that’s not… can they  _ do  _ that??” 

Mitch just nods. This is apparently preppy boy’s first direct experience with the wider-scale bullshit of being gay and it’s never an easy experience to deal with. Words don’t often help. 

“Should we try somewhere else or call it a night?” Kirstie asks after a tense minute or two. Mitch looks over at Scott; the blonde is frowning slightly, eyes downcast and face mostly impassive. “Meh,” Mitch says when he can’t get a read on Scott. “What’dyou guys wanna do?” 

No one answers for a few seconds, then Jeremy pipes up. “It’s after three. Let’s get together another night. I’m just...I’m really pissed.” It’s a fair assessment. Mitch hasn’t taken his eyes off Scott and he sees a flash of something like disappointment cross his face when Jeremy says he wants to call it a night. “M‘kay,” he says. “I’ll drop you and Kirst off and then get preppy boy home.” He taps Scott’s knee gently. “Okay?” 

Scott finally looks up and manages a small, genuine-looking smile. He sighs and nods. “I didn’t want a Moons Over My Hammy that much anyway,” he cracks.

The bitch at the cash register smirks at them as they leave. Mitch cocks an eyebrow at her and flips her the bird with one hand, reaching out to take Scott’s hand in the other. It’s not gonna solve anything but it makes him feel a little better. 

It’s a 20 minute drive to Kirstie & Jeremy’s house made noisy only by the radio. No one’s in the mood to talk and Mitch is lost in his thoughts. He guesses the night’s a bust, but it’s probably not a total disaster. Once they’d pulled out of the ill-fated Denny’s parking lot, Scott had reached over and rested his hand on Mitch’s knee, and without a second thought Mitch laced his fingers with Scott’s. The weight of their hands on his leg is comfortable, and comforting; neither move to disentangle themselves until Mitch has to use both hands to navigate the bumpy driveway. He pulls up behind his friends’ duplex and everyone exchanges goodbyes. 

“Mind if I hop out and smoke before we go?” Mitch turns to Scott once he sees the couple make their way safely inside. Scott looks at him quizzically. “That’s fine,” he says. “But you can smoke in the car. I don’t care.” Mitch waves him off. “Nah, I don’t keep nonsmokers hotboxed in a car with me. So rude.” Scott shrugs, and when Mitch opens his door to step out Scott does the same. They both wind up leaning against the trunk of the car, shoulders pressed together, looking up at the sky. 

He isn’t complaining. 

“How is shit like that allowed to happen?” Scott asks, still looking up at the sky. The hurt is plain in his voice. Mitch rakes a hand through his hair, pushing the strands loosened by the breeze out of his face and back behind his ears. He’s glad it’s a clear, cool night. “You up to talking about it or just want to vent?” he asks. “I wanna talk about it,” Scott answers immediately. “I want to understand. What happened, why it happened, why it’s allowed. It’s… it’s stupid. It’s not right.” 

Mitch drags on his cigarette, mentally composing his words. “Was that the first time you personally dealt with it?” he asks and Scott nods. “Alright. Well, it won’t be the last, and it won’t be the worst. I’m sorry.” The blonde is frowning again and Mitch takes his hand. The way their fingers fit together feels nice, and for just a moment he’s distracted by it. “I’m no expert, okay? I’m not a, I dunno, a professional activist or a scientist or anything. I just know what I’ve experienced and what people I’ve talked to have experienced.” Scott nods again so he goes on. “You seem like a smart guy. You know most people think we’re sick, or immoral, or just gross. That’s not new to you, is it?” Scott huffs a sigh. “Well, no. I mean, I  _ know  _ that, but... that’s changing, right? We’ve talked about it in meetings some. Public opinion is getting better.” 

“Getting, yeah,” Mitch says, putting out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot and tucking the butt in his pocket. “Change is hard. Okay, like, literally they  _ just  _ stopped calling homosexuality a mental illness. That’s brand new. Gay sex is illegal in a bunch of states. Shit, we just spent the last decade being told AIDS was punishment for being sinners. We’re not forced into the closet anymore, not like back in the 50s or whatever, but that doesn’t mean people  _ like  _ the idea of gay.” Fuck, this conversation sucks. Scott looks… well, he looks hurt. “We just wanted to get some food,” he murmurs, and he  _ sounds  _ hurt too. “I know,” Mitch says quietly. “I know, and usually it’s not a big deal. But when it is, when people pull shit like that, there’s only so much a couple people can do. It isn’t against the law to not seat us. We could’ve complained to a manager or made a scene or something but then you run the risk of the cops being called, and that can spiral out of control. The four of us tonight couldn’t do anything but  just leave.” 

Scott angles his head to look at him and Mitch is a taken aback at the anger in his eyes. For the briefest moment he’s acutely aware of how much bigger than him this guy is; he  _ towers  _ in his rage. “So what can we do then? What can I do? How do we get laws passed or...or… make people not hate us… or  _ something _ , for fuck’s sake.” 

“Preppy b-” Mitch pauses. It’s not the time for flirty nicknames. Instead he gives the blonde’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Scott. I want to give you answers. I wish I knew ‘em. What I do know is that whatever group you’re in at school is an important part of finding the answers, and the groups down at the LGBT center are important, and any sort of place where the community can gather and share ideas and support each other - that’s how we find the answers. It just… it won’t happen overnight. It probably won’t happen in our lifetime. But I know a lot of people are working on it. There are always groups at the center tackling the political side of things.” 

The breath hitches audibly in Scott’s throat. “What’s the LGBT center?” he asks, no longer sounding angry. Mitch takes a half step away so he can crane his head up and get a good look at the blonde’s face. “Oh, honey,” he says when he sees Scott isn’t joking. “It’s down on 24th. They’ve got all sorts of stuff. Support groups, advocacy groups, education, health services, and, like, a whole building full of queers. You didn’t know about it?” Scott just shakes his head. “I’ll take you one day,” he says, then averts his eyes. That was a little presumptuous. “I mean, um, if you want. I’ll take you down there. It can be hard to find parking sometimes. Sorry. I’m babbling.” 

“No,” Scott says quietly. “I want to go. That sounds...I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it. When can we go?” 

Mitch smiles at him, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “I guess this takes care of the awkward  _ ‘can I see you again?’ _ question, huh?” Scott looks at him, seemingly perplexed for a few seconds, before grinning and ducking his head. The shy thing  _ really  _ works for him and Mitch feels his heart thump a little harder. “Guess it does,” Scott says, smiling in the direction of their feet. “Is this where I ask you for your number? I’m pretty new to this, y’know.” 

“This  _ is  _ that point,” Mitch replies with a grin. “But that’s a little tricky. I’ll have to ask you for yours. It, uh, probably would not go over well with my parents if strange men started calling me.” He winces at the admission. This is also the point where most guys walk off or give him a fake number. He’s learned not to get his hopes up. 

Scott doesn’t walk off, but he does nod thoughtfully. “Yeah, that makes sense. I have a phone in my dorm so you can call me whenever.” He pats his pockets helplessly. “Um. But I don’t have a pen.” 

It’s getting cold, it’s getting really late, and Mitch has a pen in his car so they somewhat reluctantly disentangle their hands and climb back into the car. This is completely not how Mitch had expected his night to go when he left the house. He steals a glance at the man in his passenger seat as he digs through his center console for the pen he’s sure is in there somewhere. How can someone so not his type be so fucking hot? What the hell is he going to have in common with this guy? Would they have anything to talk about? Maybe Scott’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he’ll wind up with a fake phone number. Wouldn’t be the first time, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t be disappointed this time. 

“Can I ask you something?” Scott pipes up, voice hesitant, as Mitch triumphantly pulls out a pen and passes it over with a small spiral-bound notebook he keeps around for just this purpose. “Sure,” he replies. The blonde ducks his head, concentrating on writing in the notebook. “Is there, like, the three day rule? I mean, is that a rule in...uh, the gay world? You wait three days to call?” 

Mitch eyes him for a moment, not sure where this question is going, and Scott looks up from the notebook biting his lip nervously. “Kinda, I guess?” Mitch hedges. “Depends on how things go. What, uh, why do you ask?” Scott rolls his eyes and even in the dark Mitch can see him blushing. “Just don’t know what to expect,” the blonde says quietly. “You don’t - I mean, if you want you don’t have to wait to call me…” 

Maybe it isn’t so much the shy thing that works for Scott; maybe it’s actually this paradoxical combination of shy and utterly unabashed he has that makes him absolutely fascinating. Mitch looks at him in the nearly-5am dark of the car’s interior, head tilted, until Scott puffs out a tiny chuckle and his eyes dart away. “What?” he asks. “Do you need the three days?” Mitch smiles, then smiles wider the more he thinks about the last couple hours, and he shakes his head before tucking loosened hair back behind his ears. “I don’t need three days. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now can I ask you something?” 

Scott nods with an “mmhmm.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Mitch asks. 

Scott doesn’t answer except to lean over the center console between them.  

\-- 

Mitch keeps his promises. He drops a quarter into a payphone a little after 11 on Sunday night and carefully dials the number Scott had written in his notebook the night before. Between catching a few hours of sleep after his 7am return home, helping his mom around the house, and studying he hadn’t been able to slip away until fairly late at night - but he’d said he’d call Scott “tomorrow” and it’s technically tomorrow for another hour. 

The gas station at the corner isn’t really the ideal spot for something resembling a romantic phone call but it’s the drive-up type of phone so he can sit in his car which is definitely more private than calling from home. 

Four more months. 

He sighs as the phone rings once, twice, and halfway through the third a familiar voice answers. “Hi, um, is this Scott?” Mitch asks, trying to hide his nervousness. He can hear a slight intake of breath through the phone before Scott answers in the affirmative. “It’s Mitch,” he says. “From last-” 

“You didn’t wait three days,” Scott cuts him off. He’s smiling as he says it; Mitch can hear it in his voice. “Of course not, I said I’d call you today,” Mitch replies, unable to keep himself from smiling too. “And  _ you  _ didn’t give me a fake number. I think we’re off to a good start here.” 

They don’t have the time or energy to talk long; Mitch has an early Monday class and Scott says he has to fit in a visit with his academic counselor before his first class of the day. 

 “So,” Mitch says after a few minutes. “I know we just saw each other, like, technically this morning. But I’m gonna be studying over at Java House tomorrow evening. Um, did you maybe want to meet me there for a drink? Since I didn’t need to wait three days to call maybe we don’t need to wait a week to, like, go on a date?” 

**Author's Note:**

> In the 1990s, Denny’s restaurant chain settled multi-million dollar lawsuits due to behaviors like those described above. The lawsuits were filed under federal law regarding public accommodation - Denny’s, being open to the general public, could not refuse or restrict customers based on federally protected classes. In this case, the lawsuits were brought due to racial bias. Nonwhite customers were treated in a discriminatory manner by the chain and the chain was sued over it. 
> 
> Sexual orientation and gender identity were not then - and are not now - federally protected classes (though they are protected in some cities and states). An untold number of LGBTQ+ customers faced the same type of bias but were powerless to do anything about it legally, and socially the response was limited to those in the local community - unlike today, where a social media backlash would force change. Legally speaking there is currently little to no protection from anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination. The Denny’s story above is based on a late night visit I made to the restaurant with some friends in the 90s.


End file.
